A Night in the Dungeons
by ATemporarilyLostPhyz
Summary: Harry finds himself at in the Slytherin dungeons in quite a predicament. Slytherin tactics and threesomes ensue. You paint the picture.
1. Dungeon Danger

**Disclaimer:** All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

**Chapter 1**

**Dungeons****Dangers**

"What's going on in here?" said a cool voice from the door.

In the process of removing his red and gold boxers, the three girls merely looked up with negligible alarm. Millicent spoke up first. "We were just playing with Golden Boy here, Draco," she said with a mixture of petulance and irritation in her voice. Malfoy slowly strode into and stopped at the foot of the bed. Harry felt his cheeks blaze at the impassive assessment of half-naked body was receiving from those steely grey eyes, and more than a little self-conscious about his knobbly knees.

"Enjoying yourself, Potter?"

Merlin knew he wasn't. Terrified, more like. "No!" he replied hastily, in a voice a little louder than he had intended. "No," he reiterated more softly. "Malfoy, please get me out of here," he pleaded, actually pleading to his school arch nemesis, and indicatively tugged at the silk bindings on his wrists. The three witches hadn't tied up his ankles, possibly so he could make a fool of himself by flailing his legs wildly and eliciting mocking laughs from them.

Malfoy did nothing but raise a perfectly sculpted eyebrow. Harry gazed earnestly into his face with hope and desperation written all over his own countenance, wanting to convey to him his fears with his mere eyes. He didn't enjoy being tied up like this so helplessly and facing the possibility of being molested by these girls, the two of whom he thought were quite unattractive, to say the least, and even more discomfiting, he suspected one of the two on his left of having a sixth finger; Harry shivered in disgust at the thought of that hand touching him all over. Then, to his immense surprise, Malfoy slowly climbed onto the emerald-quilt bed, all the while keeping eye contact with Harry, whose breath had been taken away. Malfoy fluttered down slowly and softly on top of him, looking down at him with a soft smirk curving his shell-pink lips whilst the three girls looked on jealously but silently. Harry's breath came back with furious haste, and his pulse shot upwards as his heart banged against his ribcage; he instantly knew Malfoy could feel this.

"Don't you want to play with them?" Malfoy asked sweetly.

Never had Harry been as aware of Malfoy as he was then. Up so close, Harry could smell him, really smell, behind the light, pleasant cologne he wore, and this scented mixture was proving dangerous to Harry's already weakened resolve at an astonishing rate. The completely smooth alabaster skin, the individual lines of his grey irises, Malfoy's ears – he was now privy to every single detail afforded to him by Malfoy's closeness, ever more compounding the state of surrealism in which Harry swam.

Barely able of composing an answer to his question and not wishing to offend the girls, knowing perfectly well that there was a chance Malfoy wouldn't save him from them but leave him at their mercy, he replied, "No," in a cautious whisper, shaking his head minutely, and didn't dare look at their three observers.

"And if I free you, what do I gain exactly?" asked Malfoy silkily, seeming vastly unperturbed by their compromising positions and the three pairs of greedy eyes watching them with disturbing avidity. Harry reasoned he shouldn't expect Malfoy to be anything but wanton anyway, and so this scene was probably quite familiar to him, hence his casualness. "What have you got to offer me that I don't have?"

_Bloody Slytherin through and through_. Malfoy was so close to him, he could feel the warm air exhaling from his upturned nose as he spoke; this wasn't helping his pulse rate at the moment. He looked earnestly into those silvery marbles, trying to decide what to say.

He thought about the first thing that came to mind, the one thing that Malfoy never had against him: a victory. "The Snitch," he blurted out. "I- I'll throw the next match against Gryffindor and Slytherin so you can catch the Snitch, I'll just fool around on my broomsss..." The last word was hissed through his clenched teeth as Malfoy had shifted slightly on top of him, creating unnecessary friction down there. Harry couldn't believe he was actually offering to throw a match. He wasn't thinking straight at the moment, was the only excuse available to him currently. His words were decided by desperation and, surprisingly, Malfoy's piercing eyes that were so close to his, reminding him of Lucius Malfoy's more intense gaze back in the book shop in his second year. At the present, all he could see was Malfoy's facial plane, and he would dearly like to say that he wished Malfoy would back up, but it wouldn't be entirely true.

Malfoy's eyebrow rose even further, almost melding into his hairline of the same colour. He appeared to be considering his words, and then, with a tall smirk, he said, "Alright, Potter. Sounds like a fair deal." The girls huffed crossly and folded their arms. "I release you and you give me the Snitch," he summarised, sound most satisfied.

Harry nodded fervently, hoping Oliver would forgive him one day for this treacherous sin wherever he was. Malfoy fluidly lifted himself from Harry with his elbows and crawled off the bed, leaving the bulge Harry marginally erect penis exposed for all to see, which Harry was somewhat surprised to see. If Malfoy had felt it while he had been on top of him breathing down at him, he had didn't shown it. Harry shut his eyes in mortification, his ears turning a violent red that would rival Ron's. He blindly heard a few giggly snickers bubbling from the girls hovering above him, and he tentatively opened his eyes to see Malfoy eyeing Daphne Greengrass meaningfully. Her immoderate giggles evaporated instantly as she pouted but obliged and held out her wand over the silk bindings. She mumbled a spell and Harry immediately felt the materials loosen their grip on his wrists mercifully.

Needless of further motivation, Harry triumphantly jumped up and undid the bindings off his wrists and hastily threw on his clothes, not spared the humiliation of dressing in front of four people watching him, but he didn't care – he was free and only that mattered.

"Of course you're not getting out of here so easily, you do know that, right?" Malfoy drawled loftily. Harry looked up at him with a half astonished, half blank look. Malfoy went on, "No, no. You are going to have to spend the rest of the evening with me. I need an excuse to ward off some... unfavourable proposals at the party down there."

Harry straightened up sharply, alarmed, shoes forgotten. "What do you mean?" he asked in a constricted voice.

Malfoy appeared to allow himself and the girls a moment's silence as though so he could fully absorb the inanity of the question. "I mean," he said tersely after the brief silence, "that you are going to be my 'date' for the evening." He grimaced at this. "I'm not particularly in the mood to make out with anybody tonight."

Harry thought Malfoy certainly wasn't looking cocky about this but actually practical, which could only mean he was genuinely used to getting these 'proposals.' But he was a boy; Harry failed to understand. It didn't make sense… unless Malfoy was gay. Did that even matter now? But if he did this, it would damage his own reputation and have people thinking he was gay or something, which he most certainly was not. Harry's eyes travelled over his three female assailants, and he quite decidedly answered, "Okay," and tied his shoelaces, but not before noticing Malfoy nodding as his lips crawled up his face in a content smirk. Harry then straightened up and followed Malfoy out awkwardly, passing by the girls without a single word. What could he say? 'Bye?' 'See you?' They nearly raped him! Merlin, he was a virgin but he was panicked about being raped by three girls. Shouldn't he be taking any and all opportunity for a shag?

Malfoy dragged Harry into his bathroom and snapped the door. "What the-!" began Harry, but Malfoy shushed him softly and brandished his wand. Harry couldn't quite help the reflexive action of his hand delving for his own wand, which was now trained on Malfoy point blank between his eyes. Malfoy sighed, looking unimpressed, clearly conveying that that was quite unnecessary. "I'm going to put Glamours on you, Potter. Do you feel that that is offensive, pun intended?" Malfoy asked smoothly.

Harry flushed. He hastily put his wand away again and cleared his throat. The situation was decidedly disconcerting: he was in the Slytherin dungeons, isolated in Malfoy's bathroom, and with Malfoy holding a wand in his hand (and Harry didn't doubt he could cast an Unforgivable without much difficulty). His instincts screamed when Malfoy raised his wand and pointed it straight at his face. He was breaking into a sweat, but he should calm down; Malfoy wouldn't curse him right inside Hogwarts, would he? That thought didn't go a long way to pacify him with a Slytherin wand in his face.

He tensed as Malfoy began chanting spells, each one coming with a new sensation, colour, and apparent change in his features.

"There you go," Malfoy declared after the onslaught ended, finally. Harry released the breath he hadn't known he'd been holding. Malfoy directed him to a mirror on the wall above a basin with silver serpentine taps, and he stared at himself in the mirror to take in his new features: his eyebrows and hair were straw blond – a shade darker than Malfoy's white blond hair; his eyes, his most distinguishing feature and, consequently, the one needed to be attended to most importantly, had been changed from emerald to a piercing, deep, drawing blue, so much like his mentor, Dumbledore's, but so different in so many ways despite the very narrow ranges in their shade; his complexion, which had been a nice, light tan was lightened to almost the pale pallor of Malfoy himself, but of course Harry, as he would have expected, he wasn't beautified with that unknown special something that gave Malfoy's pale skin an ethereal, unprecedented, irreproducible, distinct quality about it; and lastly, his lips were made pouty, narrower, more plump, and generally bigger.

He decided he liked his new self. Very much so. Malfoy stood behind him. For some reason Harry thought Malfoy looked like the precursor of his new looks. Before he thought of even comparing them and potentially dealing irreversible damage to his confidence in his heterosexuality, he turned from the mirror and steeled himself. "I'm ready," he said. Malfoy nodded and led him outside the door, whereupon they crossed the room, now cleared of the girls, and out to the where the party was.


	2. Down at the Party

**Chapter 2**

**Down at the Party**

As soon as they emerged out of Malfoy's private room, soft but loud music assaulted Harry's ears, and thick, dim, greenish light pressed upon his eyes, making them feel heavy somehow, and as these two features announced the fact that there was a party going on, Harry's pulse raced. It couldn't be said he was a party animal, and Harry found himself out of his depth. Tons of Slytherins were milling about, either on the large dance floor that had been magically Transfigured, or sitting on the couches and making out, mostly. Harry felt so out of place; it was a party, something with which he had little experience, and it was the Slytherin common room, having been here once before. He and Malfoy quietly descended the stairs, side by side.

No sooner had a few seconds had passed than Malfoy was already being hit on by a... well... even Harry had to admit that the guy was, er, good looking, is what neutral heterosexuals would call it, right? The boy was tall, taller than both Malfoy and himself, with light brown eyes, brunet hair reaching the shoulders, and an impressive mandible wrapped over by nice, peachy skin.

"Sorry, Brice, I'm with..." Malfoy trailed off, and Harry suspected he didn't know what to call him.

"Dray," Harry invented, thinking of the first name that came to mind after recovering from the shock of Malfoy being approach by another boy rather than a girl. He extended his hand to Brice, who reluctantly shook it, failing miserably to hide his resentment towards him, and stalked away, disappearing in the thicket of dancing students. Harry coloured at the look Malfoy was shooting at him. Really, did Dray have to be the first name he could think of, the name Blaise called Malfoy? Evidently, Malfoy was thinking along the same lines, but he said nothing of it and swept over to a punch table, pouring drinks. He gave him a glass full of a brownish orange liquid that, when he took a tentative sip, tasted like pumpkin juice but with a trace of something else that he wasn't familiar with, and that wasn't too palatable.

"Pumpkin juice and Firewhisky," said Malfoy at his grimacing face.

"Firewhisky? Isn't that alcohol?" Harry asked in alarm.

Malfoy nodded without looking at him but rather studying the party unfolding in front of them.

Harry looked down at the sepia drink, quietly assessing the risks of indulging a bit more in it, but the thrill of consuming alcohol was quickly winning the raging war. He resigned to the baleful idea and took a far less apprehensive swig of it. Now that he thought about it, it didn't taste as nasty as it had been when he hadn't known what it was… Strange… He drank with less restraint and he too gazed at the throng of Slytherins slipping and sliding along each other on the dance more and some making out on the couches tucked back in various corners. Some were also chatting innocently, either on their feet or on the couches unoccupied by kissing lovebirds. No, not lovebirds – 'lustbirds', more like, Harry thought; their kissing wasn't rosy and sweet like kids in the throes of love and infatuation – this was downright sex-driven – they were eating their faces off. Harry wouldn't be surprised if some started slipping away from the crowded common room for more private settings.

Before Harry could voice his trepidation at the sight of Blaise Zabini approaching them, he heard Malfoy's words from the corners of his mouth: "Damn it. I hope you'll pass for a Ravenclaw. No, Blaise has probably slept with half of them. Say you're in Gryffindor. No, but then you're standing next to me and I cannot have that. Let's not even consider Hufflepu- you're Ravenclaw," Malfoy hastened to decide when Blaise was finally upon them, tall, chocolate-skinned, Chinese-looking and wearing a blasé expression as though parties in the Slytherin common room occurred as often as daily.

"So, Dray, who's this?" Blaise asked Malfoy with a grin, indicating to Harry with a nod and a quirk of one eyebrow.

Both Harry and Draco flushed. Harry couldn't possibly claim his name was Dray now.

"Forget about him," Malfoy rapped evasively with a charming smile, and put his arm around Blaise's shoulders, smoothly spinning him around. "What do you think of that witch there?" he asked him, pointing at a lovely girl wearing flattering violet robes that seemed navy in the green light. Blaise's eyes lingered on Harry a little before he averted them and regarded the marked girl, and after a few seconds of low chattering between them, Blaise suddenly elbowed Malfoy playfully in the ribs and stalked over to the punch table, Malfoy chuckling lightly behind him.

"...Bloody unfair, that's what it is," Harry heard Blaise mutter as he poured his drink. Meanwhile, the same girl Blaise and Malfoy had been appraising was walking over to them, her eyes resolutely set on the lean, pale figure of Malfoy.

Harry ventured a conversation with Blaise. "What's unfair?" he asked as casually as he could.

Blaise slowly looked up. "All he has to do is smile and they come running faster than hippogriffs on potroids," he replied in a tired, lofty voice with a half proud, half indignant grin.

Harry frowned at the unfamiliar word.

"So what house are you in? I've never seen you before, sorry to say," Blaise said softly.

"Oh, er, Ravenclaw, second year," Harry invented quickly. He found Blaise, who spoke softly and mildly and whose movements were slow and lazy, as if he were perpetually bored, quite unnerving.

After a pause, Blaise smiled and nodded softly. "You have a name?" he asked in the pause in which it was clear he had expected Harry to supply his name.

Harry didn't know how these things worked! These dating, chatting, meeting people thing! And the proper process and all! His brained worked furiously to make up a random name that actually existed. He thought Drarry wouldn't do so he hastily moved onto the next name, but he was relieved of inventing a name as Malfoy reappeared with the girl in hand, courted and caught.

"Blaise, if you would kindly excuse us," said Draco politely. "I'd like to take... him away for, er, private entertainment."

_Thank __God_, thought Harry.

A heavy eyebrow rose steadily to Blaise's hairline, and his eyes roamed over the three of them with inadequate envy. "See you... tomorrow, I guess," he bade in farewell in an amused voice, and slithered away, swallowed by the depths of green-lit party fever.

Malfoy turned to Harry. "Po-aul, Paul!" Wow. Terrible blunder. "I'd like you to meet Vamilda, she's going to be with us for the evening," he said in a most charming voice.

Not knowing exactly what 'be with us' entailed, Harry waved his hand at the girl. "Hi." She was very attractive, Harry noted. In fact, if he could see the other girls in the dim green light of the dungeons to compare, he would deem her the prettiest girl in the whole party, with a rather blessed chest, long neck, and long wavy black hair that touched her shoulders. Harry couldn't quite decide on her complexion due to the green light. Trust Malfoy to bag only the best, and a fifth-year to boot, while they were both only in fourth year. Malfoy slipped the three of them away from the music and the wildness, smirking at Pansy's murderous glare as he glided up the stairs towards his private room, Vamilda in tow, and Harry meekly following in their wake.


	3. Thrilling Threesome

**Chapter 3**

**Thrilling Threesome**

_No!_ Harry thought frantically. _No. Malfoy wouldn't... he wouldn't... Wha?_ Harry's legs faltered at the threshold of Malfoy's bedroom door, but Malfoy grabbed his forearm, pulled him in, and closed the door behind him. Now there was only Harry, Vamilda, and Malfoy in the room. Malfoy and Vamilda were already at it, kissing furiously and ripping each other's close off. All Harry could do was look on with astonishment, rooted to the spot by incredulity at the situation he found himself in, or rather, _put_ himself in, to be precise; he was the one who had decided to venture free willingly into the dungeons to spy on Malfoy.

That same person now jerked his hand, gesturing for him to go behind Vamilda and fall into step. Harry's legs hadn't moved at the prompt – he could only gape and stare back. Malfoy pulled back from Vamilda and told her to get on the bed and arrange herself appropriately. The tall brunette quietly did so in lustful haste.

Harry barely registered a half-naked Malfoy walking over to him. He was dragged across the room and onto the bed. Harry backed up, all wide eyed and open-mouthed like a galjoen, scarcely believing what was happening in front of him, but Malfoy held him fast, and to Harry's utter and absolute amazement, kissed him.

Reflexively, Harry's breath lodged in his throat, and Malfoy took this opportunity to slither his tongue into Harry's gaping mouth. Then he cupped his jaw and slipped onto his lap. Harry was beside himself with these new sensations, absolutely flabbergasted, feeling as though he were flung into an unknown, unchartered abyss, confused and inspired by new feelings and needs of pleasure he never knew he harboured.

Tentatively, he kissed back a little, which elicited a sigh Harry thought was largely unwarranted from the other boy, surprising him that he could actually make Malfoy react to anything he did. His inhibitions were lowered enough for his brain to dismiss the fact that Malfoy was undressing him and that he himself was kissing back, driven by some ethereal force not of his own making, and in a matter of milliseconds, he couldn't get enough of Malfoy. Hands roamed all over pale, infallible skin, lips moved sinuously with thinner, shell-pink lips, hips thrust into hips. Only when Harry had to break the kiss to allow Malfoy to lift his skirt off did he realize Vamilda was still with them, and staring with glowing eyes. Oh yeah. She's here too. Bugger.

Malfoy backed up to pull at Harry's boxers, and Vamilda took the opening to latch onto Harry's lips. Harry felt, for the first time, at the tender age of fourteen, tits poking his naked chest. He took this in his stride. He shivered when he felt Vamilda's soft hand grasp his manhood and begin to stroke it slowly. The tall girl led him, without breaking the kiss and stroking his prick, to the middle of the bed, where Harry found himself overwhelmed with all the sensory input at the moment. He had never been so hard in his life before!

Thank Merlin for Malfoy.

Vamilda started to track kisses down his body, leaving his swollen red lips unoccupied. Harry was vaguely aware of Malfoy waving his wand about behind the girl amongst the tongue and teeth on his nipples trailing down his body. And then all hell broke loose when she lowered her head and took him into her mouth in one, smooth movement. Harry released a drawn out strangled sound as his eyes rolled back into his head. Mere seconds later, he broke into a million pieces and left the plane of existence altogether…

After an indeterminate amount of time, Harry slowly came to, opening his eyes somnolently and looking up at Malfoy's pleasure-riddled face as he thrust into Vamilda's backside, his white-blond hair tousled, cheeks flushed, long, pale, and luxurious neck extended. He was close to climaxing, judging by the increasing breathiness of his soft moans, which were making Harry's prick swell up again. At that moment, Harry couldn't competently process the full ignominy of what was happening. Then, spotting his growing erection, Vamilda started licking away at his prick again in earnest, as if he wasn't spent.

Malfoy was close to coming, Harry could hear it, feel it, and despite the dizzyingly warm heat of Vamilda's mouth, he couldn't quite look away from Malfoy's face. And then, to his immense disbelief, his mouth opened. "Malfoy, stop."

The pale underside of a chin gave way to a vaguely frowning Malfoy looking down at him, his eyebrows creased in pleasure and concentration. He didn't stop thrusting into the girl, though.

"Fuck _me._" Only after he had said it did the humiliation catch up with him; even Malfoy's steady rhythm faltered after those words, but he recovered himself quickly – the wanton bloke he was – and he smiled mischievously. Harry returned it faintly, awash with embarrassment. Malfoy clinically dismounted off Vamilda, who looked somewhat relieved. Harry sat up.

"You on top?" asked Malfoy. Harry had been expecting Malfoy to bugger him from the back as he had been Vamilda, like the sort of default way of gay sex. Merlin knew he was very much uninformed in this kind of sex. Nonetheless, he nodded.

Malfoy lay down on the bed with his wand in his hand, his prick shooting straight up in the air at attention. No wonder Vamilda seemed relieved. Merlin, was that going to go all the way in him? He approached Malfoy's midsection tentatively, not knowing how he was going to negotiate his prick into his arse. Malfoy waved and tapped his wand several times on the side of his backside. Then Harry felt strange back there – wet and... open, sort of. This was what Malfoy probably did to Vamilda as well, he assumed. Merlin, there were even spells for sex! Where has he been?

Well, he was here now.

Harry licked his lips nervously, wondering what on earth possessed him to actually offer his arse to be ripped to pieces when Malfoy was well on his way to completion at Vamilda's expense. He hovered over the slightly reddened prick, swallowing nervously.

"Potter, I'm dying here!" At the apparent scream of urgency, Harry tentatively took the prick with his hand and carefully positioned it to his entrance, and he winced when he breached himself with the foreign organ. He heard Malfoy gasp. "So tight," he said in a strained whisper.

Harry pushed down onto more of the length, surprised to find it less painful than he thought it would be. After a few moments, he felt Malfoy's balls touch his ass cheeks. He was all the way in! Or more precisely, all the way down! "Merlin, merlin, merlin," Malfoy gasped. His thin hands came up to Harry's hips, whilst Harry's own were at either side of Malfoy's head. Harry started moving slowly, adjusting to the sensation of being filled like this, but Malfoy's hands were more urgent and tried to ruthlessly pump him up and down. When Harry proved disagreeable to the pace for which they wished, they shifted his hips a little, and when Harry came back down on the shaft again, he saw stars.

He gasped. Something happened in there that felt really good! Through glazed-over eyes, he saw Malfoy smile dreamily up at him, evidently knowing what he had just caused. More confident this time, Harry started to pick up speed, and with every thrust, he made sure to hit that spot inside him like he was discovering a new toy with which to play. Did everybody have that special place in them? Or was it just boys because Vamilda had looked pained? Was this a gay secret all this time? Was this an equivalent to the g-spot that apparently existed in girls Harry had learnt of through accidentally eavesdropping on a conversation among a couple of seventh year Gryffindor boys? Within minutes, Malfoy let out a mewl that affected Harry in a way he never anticipated, causing an explosion in his balls for making him come for the second time that night, and then Malfoy spilled his own seed inside him; he could feel it deep inside, coating him. Harry collapsed on Malfoy, who still rode out his orgasm and seconds later, joining him in post-coital lassitude.


	4. The Intricacies of Exit

**Chapter 4**

**The Intricacies of Exit**

When Harry slowly awoke from sate slumber an unknown length of time later for the second time, he found himself alone in Malfoy's Prefect room. He sat up, totally disoriented. Perhaps Malfoy was in the bathroom. Then all the things that had happened came rushing back to him: he had just shagged, with two people at the same time, and one of those was a boy, and that boy was Malfoy. Each bullet that shot through his sleepy haze was more amazing than the last. _Oh my God_, and he had actually asked Malfoy to bugger him. Voluntarily. Asked. His arse had been penetrated. He had been defiled by another bloke's prick on his person. Voluntarily. Merlin, would he be able to look himself in the face again? Would he be able to say that he was straight without any doubt whatsoever? And speaking of faces... Merlin, when he asked Malfoy to fuck him, he had actually been already reverted to his original looks. That meant Malfoy had really fucked him – completely – as Harry Potter – not as the blond. And Malfoy hadn't declined despite this. What did that mean?

Harry just sat there bolt upright in Malfoy's emerald-quilt bed with his hands in his face, these thoughts dashing and swimming in his mind. He was fucked big time, pun intended. He was never going to be the same Harry again.

He realized he was naked. He expected to be somehow wet somewhere because of all the semen that had been released from the two penises involved, but he wasn't. It was probably due to another spell by Malfoy. Wasn't Malfoy just the sex expert? Okay, he wasn't supposed to say that – only girls after having a good shag from said person were supposed to say that to the accompaniment of giggles from their fellow girlfriends in the bathroom whilst applying make-up, not Harry. He shook his head in self-admonition. Swinging his legs off the bed, he spied his clothes and wand on Malfoy's intricately carved trunk, over to which he skittered and threw them on, thrusting his wand in his waistband, and just when he had finished dressing, the door swung open, revealing a thoroughly nonchalant Malfoy.

"You need to get out of here, Potter," Malfoy drawled lazily as he sauntered into the room.

After berating himself for his deplorable actions and having, admittedly, the best experience (he couldn't say best sexual experience, since he had nothing to compare it to) in his life thus far, and for Malfoy to come in here and have the nerve to kick him out without even sparing the boy he shagged a glance, as if he did this sort of thing everyday, was very infuriating. It then occurred to Harry that, yes, Malfoy probably did do this everyday, and it didn't improve his mood.

Then something else occurred to Harry: he was staring at the boy who had actually buggered him. That boy right there standing in front of him, his prick had been in his arse. He had sex with this boy – Malfoy. Harry couldn't berate himself enough in his opinion for actually feeling somewhat proud of having been shagged by well, effectively, the Slytherin Sex God, the Slytherin Ice Prince, the most popular guy in Hogwarts, apart from himself possibly, modesty aside. No, he should be furious, angry with himself, angry with Malfoy. He had just given up his virginity for a fleeting shag – it wasn't anything special. No, wait, he couldn't say that – it _was_ sort of special, in a weird, perverse way: It was his first time to get a blow job, first time he held a girl's breasts in his hands, first time he ever kissed a girl, first time he ever kissed a boy, first time he was ever penetrated.

Admittedly, it was with a completely unknown girl, but then it was also with Malfoy. He knew Malfoy – intimately, actually. Those duels in the corridors, caustic words they exchanged daily, (and once, a physical confrontation when Harry had insulted – well, no, not actually insulted but cast Malfoy's mother in a bad light – and then Malfoy just blew off his hinges for some reason and they went down in a flurry of flailing limbs. Harry had quickly gathered that Malfoy didn't usually physically fight, and had guessed that it was probably because of his magical upbringing – why punch someone if you could torture him with the Cruciatus Curse, right? – and partly because he was of the opinion that pureblood families probably thought they were above behaving like common brawling Muggles), they knew which buttons of theirs to press, how the other would react, what made them tick. He actually knew Malfoy. Huh. Would you look at that… That thought needed some getting used to.

He shook his head to induce coherence. "What?" he asked dazedly. After such a realization, he couldn't help but feel like his world had been shaken beyond recognition and repair. How could he even look Malfoy in the eyes? He was doing so right now did but no special epiphany happened – it was just the same Malfoy that he had always known in front of him. Those grey eyes that he had studied down to the last shade. There was nothing new in Malfoy, well, except for the new little inconsequential things that Harry was starting to pick up on about him after starting to see him in a different light, having gone through what they had had experienced together.

"They know it's you in here," Malfoy said, slightly exasperated.

Malfoy's lips were small, thin, and were a pale pink colour – a shell-pink colour, actually. And his skin- Merlin, what was he doing?

Harry looked at him. "Shite," he said curtly, for both reasons: that he had been looking at Malfoy's lips and that apparently the whole Slytherin house knew Harry Potter was in their leader's private room.

Malfoy gave him a fleeting smirk. "Quite."

Hey, their words rhymed...

"You need a way to get out of here..." Malfoy was saying in a low voice as if talking to himself as he paced in front of Harry.

"I can use my Invisibi-li-ity... Cloak..." Harry trailed off uncertainly; he didn't think it was prudent to disclose his being in possession of an Invisibility Cloak, especially to a Slytherin, and most definitely the biggest, thickest snake of all.

And sure enough, Malfoy's eyes shot to him, and an eyebrow was raised. "You have an Invisibility Cloak?" he asked sceptically, in a nice, sweet lilt that was surely a prelude to another indulgent deal similar in extortion to the one he had struck earlier to get himself freed from the girls. Resigned, Harry nodded.

Malfoy looked exasperated. "Merlin. Yes, trust Potter to own a rare artefact such as an Invisibility Cloak. Trust Potter to be a first-year Seeker. Trust Potter to own a Firebolt. Trust Potter to be bloody Potter!"

Harry stared back at Malfoy, open mouthed and his eyes bulging. Where did that come from?

Was Malfoy jealous? How can he be jealous of him? He had a family, he wore dragon hide and _Houdani_ haute couture, he got sweets everyday from that huge eagle owl (even Harry had to admit that the bird had an entrance), he got 'proposals' left, right, and centre, he was bloody gorgeous! Why on earth could he be jealous of him? Wait, did he say Malfoy was gor-

"Yes, you can use your _Invisibility Cloak,_"said Malfoy with a hint of a sneer, and almost scathingly, after running a hand through his long hair and composing himself, "to sneak out of here. Then I don't have to be at risk of anything."

"Like what?" Harry asked before he could stop himself.

Malfoy shot him a wary glance. "That's none of your concern. Now where is this Invisibility Cloak? I wish I could fool myself and say you're bluffing but knowing you, you probably have the soddin' thing just to spite me."

Floored that Malfoy was taking his having an Invisibility Cloak so personally, Harry awkwardly reached under the bed and pulled out the smooth, silvery material out, and he didn't miss the way Malfoy's eyes sharpened. Never had he felt so vulnerable; he was in Slytherin territory, in a room with Malfoy, and Malfoy having an eerie glaze to his eyes and eyeing his Invisibility Cloak with something akin to hunger; Harry's hands instinctively tightened on it.

"Perhaps-"

Harry knew he was already drowning in deep shit. "No, Malfoy," he interrupted shakily but firmly all the same; He wouldn't give Malfoy his Invisibility Cloak – it was a legacy from his father given to him; he'd rather die than see it in Malfoy's hands.

Malfoy raised a patronizing eyebrow. "Potter, I needn't remind you that you're underground in the Slytherin dungeons, in my room, and have absolutely no way out of here. I think it's safe to say I have the upper hand. I'll give it back to you." He held out a petite, pale hand.

Harry stared at him blankly, not fully understanding the depth of his predicament. "But, I said I'll let you win the coming Quidditch match," he reminded meekly.

"Yes, that was to set you free from those wretched girls," Malfoy countered silkily. "And I have done so. The Invisibility Cloak is for safe pass out of here."

"No," Harry said very clearly. This was where he stood his ground. He could endure being tied up by three girls to a bedpost in his God-given natural suit, deal with being Malfoy's date at the Slytherin party, and handle (more like relish) having a threesome with Malfoy and Vamilda. But this, he wouldn't. If it meant emerging out of here with boils and seared eyebrows and twitching muscles but with his father's Invisibility Cloak still in hand, then so be it.

Malfoy gazed at him silently, stormy silvery eyes oscillating wildly. "How do you suppose you will get out here?" he finally said, and pointed his wand at the doorknob, threatening to utter some locking spell, undoubtedly.

Harry swallowed.

Where was the Malfoy that kissed him so breathtakingly? Where was the Malfoy that had caressed him as though he were an invaluable piece of china? Where was the Malfoy that he had been intimate with?

"Well?" Malfoy asked impatiently after an eon of staring by a quiescent Harry.

He was almost a Slytherin, wasn't he? Because of Voldemort, he was undeniably partly Slytherin. "Okay," he relented uneasily, "I'll give you the Invisibility Cloak if you give me something valuable that will guarantee that you'll bring it back, like your ring, or your necklace."

Nothing registered in Malfoy's face for a few seconds, but then a pale eyebrow slowly climbed his aristocratic forehead, evidently impressed, and a slight smirk curved his lips. "My, my, aren't we the secret Slytherin," lilted Malfoy sweetly. More silence passed in which an expression one would associate with fear flashed across Malfoy's face briefly. "Fine. You give me the Invisibility Cloak and I'll give you my necklace; I need my ring to open family letters – Blood Magic."

Harry nodded, deciding to tuck away his frown at the reference to this 'Blood Magic.'

Malfoy stalked closer to him. "Make sure you don't lose this, Potter; it's a very ancient heirloom, dating back more than two centuries. And don't bother trying to wear it. As long as you're not a Malfoy, it will burn your skin raw." Malfoy unclasped the necklace from behind his neck. "If my father even finds out that this went into other hands, he'll have my head. Don't show it to anyone. Hide it well. You're the first person to actually touch the pendant who is not family." Malfoy breached Harry's personal space, apparently to demonstrate what would happen if one were to wear the Malfoy necklace.

Harry all of a sudden became aware again of Malfoy's cologne, again, how gleaming and shiny his white-blond hair was, and again those lips – delicate, small, absolutely kissable, and just as suddenly his breathing became a less unconscious operation – his breaths came in short ragged pants that he tried to keep quiet. "Ah!" he cried in pain, and his fingers scrabbled at the necklace to get it off before it burnt him to the bone and left him with a third scar, but Malfoy unclasped it quickly, and the bastard smirked.

"See? Crabbe suffered the same fate when he snatched it and tried it on when I was eleven. Now take good care of it."

Harry's hands instinctively held on to the Invisibility Cloak when Malfoy took it. For a moment they struggled with it, but Harry left finally it. Malfoy didn't say a word but gave a huge smile as he splayed the material before his eyes and felt it flow through his long fingers like a sheet of moonlit water, Harry knew. And why did it make him feel so good to know he was responsible for it? Malfoy soon realized that he was smiling like an idiot, apparently, for he dropped it immediately as though it was something indecent on his face, and he cleared his throat. "Well, this is a very beneficial business transaction," he said in a business-like tone, obviously repenting from his humiliating facial expression. "Now to see what would I do with this first..."

Harry really didn't desire to think about that. "Don't lose it, Malfoy," he said sternly. "It might not have come down to me from two hundred years ago but it came from my father, and is just as precious. I'm asking you to treat it with the same care that you asked of me for this." He indicated the admittedly exquisite diamond encrusted Malfoy necklace resting in his hand.

After a few moments, "All right," Malfoy agreed. He slid over to this trunk, uttered a few spells with his wand, and the trunk opened in a series of moving ornate locks and clicking noises. Malfoy lifted the lid and place the Cloak inside after finding a nice nook in there. He then closed it and muttered another bout of incantations and the clicking and locking heralded the secured closing. Malfoy turned around to face him. "You don't have to worry about anything happening to it. Nobody but me can gain access to that door and certainly nobody can get access into my trunk. It's all protected by Dark Magic and I don't have to explain the... repercussions one would suffer if he or she were to attempt to gain that access."

Harry didn't think he was completely comfortable knowing that his father's Cloak was protected by Dark Magic itself, and he was also slightly concerned about the person who might attempt to open the trunk if Malfoy's implicit words were to apply to any degree.

"Okay, Malfoy, you've got my Invisibility Cloak and you're going to get the Snitch in the next Gryffindor/Slytherin match, so now can I go?"

Malfoy surveyed him for several moments before saying, "Okay, I'll guess I have gained quite a lot from you today. Come." Malfoy beckoned him towards the door. Harry followed, his eyes lingering on Malfoy's trunk where his Invisibility Cloak lay. He tucked the apparently invaluable and definitely repulsive (it had literally burned him) necklace into his chest pocket. He hated Slytherins with all his being.

"Don't make any sudden movements – you're in Slytherin territory."

Harry set his jaw uneasily at that; Malfoy made it sound like they were stepping into a pride of clawing lions.


	5. Facing the Slytherin Music

**Chapter 5**

**Facing the Slytherin Music**

It did look like a pride of lions. A sizeable crowd of Slytherins were waiting at the bottom of the stairs, their naturally malevolent-looking faces screwed up with varying degrees of outrage. A few gasps broke out and then some heated muttering interspersed in the common room, obviously elicited by his appearance. This was also followed by a few wands being brandished. Were these Slytherins serious? He warily followed an expertly calm Malfoy down the stairs with an imitated, relaxed pace of his own, scarcely believing he might make it to his dorm room whole.

Malfoy tossed his white blond hair completely off his shoulders and it fluttered onto his back. He had changed into a black polo-neck and grey slacks. Harry couldn't help notice the stark contrast created by the hair against the black shirt, as well as Malfoy's bare feet. Shit, Malfoy had... pretty feet. Harry was most definitely jumping off the Astronomy tower for that thought, that is, if he ever survived getting out of the dungeons in the first place.

"What is this? What's Potter doing here, Draco?" Theodore Nott shouted, seeming to lead the boisterous crowd. Harry didn't know about Malfoy but he was ready to run back to the safety of his private room. Harry had never been more regretful of his short, meek figure. These Slytherins were bloody huge! Malfoy was the only exception; Harry almost matched him, but of course Malfoy wasn't cursed with knobbly knees, big round glasses, and a generally awkward body. No, he was the complete opposite: refined, manicured, smooth, perfect, his mere feet were scaring Harry, terribly shaking his heterosexual confidence. But his shortness didn't seem to play Malfoy at a disadvantage amidst all these brute figures, which featured girls as well.

Malfoy gave Nott a particularly cool look, which proved more than sufficient in making Nott's loud accusations seem like an overreaction and almost outrageous just by the polarity of its quiet nature, leaving Nott with an uncertain expression on his pinched face – eyelids fluttering and Adam's apple bopping wildly about. Seeing Nott calm himself, a cold smirk tilted the one side of Malfoy's lips.

"You're going to have to ask Potter for that."

Twenty-some heads swivelled to face Harry.

He gulped.

"Care to explain yourself, Potter?" Pansy spat vehemently, her eyes wild, her lips quivering. Harry was quite sure that part of that Pansy's reaction was from seeing Malfoy walking up with another girl and a boy into his private room; it was only Harry's luck that it was all directed at him.

Now, he couldn't really say he followed Malfoy into the Slytherin common room and then up into his private prefect's room under an Invisibility Cloak, which Draco was now in the possession of. First of all, they would charge at him for infiltrating their territory. Secondly, how was he going to live down the fact that he willingly went into Malfoy's bedroom? And thirdly, he most definitely couldn't reveal that he had an Invisibility Cloak to even more Slytherins – he had paid the consequence of that mistake already, for he was standing without his Invisibility Cloak in his hand.

Harry's mouth opened to answer but only stuttered letters made it through. Next to him, he saw Malfoy trace an eyebrow with his index finger and sigh a little, clearly unimpressed; Harry reddened.

Malfoy cleared his throat. "Potter was under a disguise and walked right into our common room so he could follow me," he announced. Then he gave Harry a smirk. "Who knew Boy Wonder swung that way."

Harry didn't quite understand Malfoy's words but he suspected they probably didn't mean well for him, especially judging from that smirk coming his way, as well as a couple of raised eyebrows littered on the other Slytherins' faces.

"Since when?" Pansy asked him, her voice rife with incredulous scepticism.

Harry frowned at her, then he turned to Malfoy, who looked away with a quivering lower lip. Harry narrowed his eyes at him but didn't address him. Something was going on here. "What do mean 'since when?'" he asked the pug-faced girl, honestly confused on this part. Beside her, Harry saw Blaise, his arms crossed, look down, his body language singing exasperation as well. Was he missing something here? A few murmurs broke out amongst the large crowd, which only threw Harry off-centre even further.

"I _mean_," Pansy sneered tiredly whilst rolling her eyes exaggeratedly like the girl she was, consequently making Harry think of how two people so different could be together; Malfoy was anything but obvious and exaggerated – to the contrary, actually, "were you following Draco into his room to have a go at him?" There was definitely a hint of unhinged anger in her voice, and Harry really didn't want to seek it out – he wanted to get out of here. Why wasn't Malfoy helping him here? They had a deal!

Malfoy turned to him to hear his answer, and Harry's beseeching emeralds locked onto blank silver eyes. Malfoy raised his eyebrow, indicating there wouldn't be a second rescuing. Harry thought a bedroom would be a strange place to 'have a go' at Malfoy. If he wanted to, they could do it right in the corridors of Hogwarts as they usually did. "Er, yeah, that's what it is. I was following Malfoy to have a go at him." Harry turned to Pansy with a confident look now, having established a non-incriminating, inconsequential reason for following Malfoy.

Malfoy cleared his throat suspiciously.

Pansy looked like she was about to pop something. Her eyes were narrowed into thin slits at Harry, a furious scowl on her face, making it look all the more atrocious than the previous tragedy it was already. This, together with the curious buzz of fresh mutterings and shared looks, only confused Harry even further and convinced him he wasn't doing this right.

Next to him on the stairs, Malfoy released an exhausted sigh, although it was slightly tinged with amusement. "Okay, people. Look, it's one in the morning and I would really love to get my sleep, so can we please resolve this tonight?" The babbling died down. "Nott, try learning a little self restraint. Pansy dear, I'm really not in the mood for one of your jealousy trips tonight, please save that for the morning. Potter, I think you've overstayed your welcome. Follow me." With those authoritative words, Malfoy gave a final toss of his fine, white-blond hair and padded through the thicket of suspicious Slytherins. Harry made haste to follow him. No-one stopped their progress until they reached the entrance, though Harry did see a couple of hands hovering over their wands readily.

The portrait door swung closed behind them. "Well, Potter, not your greatest hero moment, was it?" said Malfoy in silky sarcasm.

Harry tried to hide his relief that he made it out with all his teeth intact. "Those girls caught me and tied me up, it wasn't my fault!" he replied almost hysterically.

"You know, Potter," Malfoy began, crossing his arms, "being a virgin and all, and I do retain the right to assume you're one," Malfoy gave him a not too complimentary once-over, "I figured you'd be practically screaming for them to have you back there."

Harry's cheeks went aflame. "They could at least look normal," he muttered petulantly. The girls were rather unattractive, not even at least plain, for Merlin's mercy!

Malfoy snorted so loudly Harry had to stifle a wince, for both reasons that it was mocking and it was, admittedly, valid. "You expect normal whereas you're..." Another cursory once-over. "But I guess being the Boy-Who-Lived and all you're- Wait, _being_ the Boy Who Lived, aren't you supposed to _not_ be a virgin?" Malfoy seemed very happy with this new revelation he had stumbled upon – his lips parted, clearly awaiting validation to release a few guffaws; his grey eyes sparkling, driving home the incredulity of it all to Harry, who turned crimson once more.

"I don't get people who want to bugger me just because I'm the soddin' Boy Who Lived, Malfoy!" he replied heatedly, trying to fend off his embarrassment with just the ferocity of his glare.

That wasn't going to fly with Malfoy. "Well, why not? I mean, if I were you, I'd be buggering left, right, and centre!" Malfoy still looked delightfully incredulous, his hysteria visibly teetering.

Harry had had enough. Dammit, he disliked that part about himself. He was too busy fighting Death Eaters and evil megalomaniacs to think about that! Merlin, the first and last time he ever wanked was last year! But he then discontinued it immediately, thinking himself pathetic for having to seek pleasure from his own hand whereas the sixth and seventh years were shagging like pixies every night in the Astronomy tower, abandoned classrooms, and secret parapet locations. This was shared amongst the boys in the shower. Rising out of the infuriating thoughts, and to retaliate foolishly, Harry said, "At least I'm not one now." His eyes popped immediately.

Malfoy unleashed right then: he released a sharp bark that was broken by sheer disbelieve. "Oh yes, Potter, take pride in knowing you're no longer a virgin because of ME!" Malfoy laughed some more while shaking his head and making his way through the portrait door, into the Slytherin common room, leaving behind Harry in emotionally disarray.


	6. Deathly Partnerships

**Chapter 6**

**Deathly Partnerships**

Harry wasn't planning on telling his friends about attending the Slytherin Quidditch victory party for their win over Ravenclaw. In fact, he wasn't planning on telling them anything about the time he had been mysteriously absent and back in the wee hours of the morning. He had begun the arduous task of formulating a water-proof, plausible excuse almost immediately after he stomped away from the dungeons, right after Malfoy laughed at him and returned inside. Only Ron knew that he had sneaked out under his Invisibility Cloak, but Harry didn't want to overlook this by taking it for granted that the redhead wouldn't spill the beans to Hermione; that girl did have, he knew, a method of coercion of her own, and Ron wasn't the most strong-willed of people when it involved big hazelnut eyes brimming with tears, quivering lower lips, and timid arm twisting.

Harry knew if Hermione did that, Ron would be done for. He could picture it in his head right now: Ron, tall and gangly, standing in front of a beseeching Hermione, his freckled face twisted and torn rather unattractively between his confidences in Harry and wishing to tell Hermione, and when Hermione dealt the final blow of tossing her head wanly with her hand, all was lost; Ron would go on his knees and confess his deepest secrets.

It was breakfast in the Great Hall. Harry was tucking into his favourite meal of Shepherd pie, and beside him, Ron was consuming the assortments on the table indiscriminately, not one to bother with specific preferences for food. Hermione was busy juggling eating her toast and scribbling notes on her parchment as her eyes darted from it to her Ancient Runes textbook.

Harry ventured a furtive glance at the Slytherin table and spied Malfoy throwing his head back in laughter, having a good time with his 'friends.' _He shagged me._ The thought came from nowhere, and with it, those images from yesterday came forth hurtling: Malfoy's grey eyes, absolutely misted over in wanton lust; his face approaching, his lips caressing his own whilst taking his clothes off; that intoxicating smell of saliva that came with kissing infused into the sizzling air of an anticipated sexual experience; Malfoy's face as he pumped into that girl. What was her name again?

Harry, already hot and bothered, started at this thought. Wait, yesterday he had a girl sucking his prick and all his thoughts could only begin with was Malfoy? Harry stopped chewing. Did this make him gay? Was he a faggot? Harry turned around into his seat and faced the table again, mind whirring. He swallowed hard as he tried to marshal his defence to that preposterous notion. Of course he wasn't a poof – he never thought about peeking at the other blokes in the showers, never thought about doing anything remotely intimate with Ron or something. Merlin, yuck! So he was safe on that, yeah, never been a homosexual. Then why the hell did he feel a strange, indecipherable, poignant pang when he thought about last night, of Malfoy's face – eyes closed in concentration and pleasure as he came up and down his prick, the small tuft of blond pubic hair tickling his perineum. And, Merlin, why was his mind continuing to omit that Vamilda girl from the picture like she hadn't been there, like she hadn't worked his prick, like he hadn't felt her breasts? "I don't..."

"Mwa?" asked Ron in a muffled voice. His mouth looked just about to explode with everything that was shoved in it.

"What did you say, Harry?" said Hermione, looking up from her workings.

"Nothing," Harry answered quickly, surprised that he had said that out loud. And from the heat he could feel on his face, he knew he was blushing like mad, and this was confirmed when Hermione raised an eyebrow. Ron, however, was quite prepared to dismiss him and he resumed the attack on his plate. Harry bit tentatively into his pie again, but not before venturing another surreptitious glance at the blond enigma only three tables away as soon as Hermione turned back to her book.

The Great Hall started emptying out and three of them made their way to Potions – first class on a Monday morning. The Potions class trickled in quickly as per usual, given who taught the subject. And equally as usual, the door flung open violently and slammed shut as noisily as usual as the Potions master glided to the front of the classroom, black robes billowing behind him furiously. With a sudden twist, he faced the class and fashioned them a scathing glare, even though the students hadn't done anything characteristically inept yet.

"Today," Snape began with that drawling twang that grated on Harry's nerves, his dark eyes roaming coldly over the upturned faces of the students, "we will begin work on brewing, or attempting to brew, the Draught of the Living Death. Of course, no one expects you to produce a satisfactory draft of such a famously complex potion by the hour, thus it is seemly we make provisions and prepare for the worst." His black eyes rested on Neville's round face for a moment, (more than a few Slytherins sniggered and Neville slipped down his seat, purple in the face) then he looked away, and started pacing down an aisle. "This potion will be attempted over a period of three days with a partner." At this, noise picked up in the Potions classroom as students glanced around inquiringly and conversed feverishly with their colleagues, some already forging presumptuous partnerships, but Snape was speaking again, and his tone couldn't have been more indulgent. "The allocation of partnerships will, of course, fall upon my discretion, and thereafter you are to remain with your partner for the duration of the task." Some students looked pale, and others grumbled indignantly, among whom was Harry, who had a good idea of what Snape had in mind, and it wasn't appealing in the slightest.

And he wasn't disappointed: he was partnered with the person Harry least desired to be partnered with for three whole days. Moodily heaving his bag on his back, he trudged away from Ron and Hermione, who were making their way to Millicent Bulstrode and Neville Longbottom wearing scowls, and headed towards the front of the classroom where the Slytherins were concentrated. Flinging his rucksack onto his seat, he shot dirty looks at Snape's back as the man brushed past him with a most satisfied expression on his sullen face. Then, when it seemed he couldn't stave it off for any longer, and attempting to banish all his awkward feelings, Harry folded his arms as he turned and stared at the very person who had sodomized him merely hours ago:

"Malfoy."

After meddling about with the apparatus on his desk, Malfoy turned to him and regarded him with a smirk. "Now, now, Harry, surely you can't be calling me by my last name after we've been so intimate with each other."

It was as though a brick had been thrown in his face. It was one thing that it had happened in the first place but quite another for it to be mentioned in such an open and familiar place. Now the two worlds were irrevocably fused together. Harry merely stared at Malfoy with his jaw hanging between his feet.

Evidently, Malfoy didn't fear seen being chummy with Harry Potter, for he reached out to gently shut Harry's open mouth with an expression of utmost understanding before crossing his arms, and this expression, more than anything, shook Harry out of his stupor, and it vaguely occurred to him that Malfoy had referred to him with his given name.

"Draco," he said forcefully and quickly, as though doing so might lessen the shock of calling Malfoy by his own given name, to the accompaniment of a few Slytherin glances coming his way. Fittingly, Malfoy cast him a reproachful look before his eyes sank lower to his lips and his expression turned disgusted; he appeared as though he believed Harry had soiled his name with the way he spoke it. Harry looked around cautiously as a flush crept into his cheeks. "So what are we doing?" he asked, still a little louder than he had intended.

"Draught of the Living Death," answered Malfoy with a half-concerned, half-scathing side-glance as he removed several items from a small, handsome, seaweed-green chest with the words 'Elitist Potioneer' embossed in a silver flourish across the lid. Harry was quite sure nobody else owned such a kit and his swift sweep around the classroom confirmed this.

"Oh, right," muttered Harry, feeling dumber by the second and almost removed from the diligent buzz of working students, but Malfoy paid him no mind and was preparing their workplace, his now gelled white-blond hair gleaming in defiance of the wan torchlight of the cold dungeons.

Standing there unoccupied, being generally ignored by Malfoy, and in the haughty midst of the Slytherins, quite faraway from his Gryffindor housemates, Harry was visited by a distinct sense of loneliness and self-consciousness, and Snape's voice floating over the milling din wasn't of any comfort:

"Do try to appear as though you have an idea of why you're in this classroom, Potter. I should disabuse you, perhaps, of the illusion that you don't have to contribute to the assignment and have Mr Malfoy labour with his own devices." Then in a louder voice, clearly addressing the rest of the class as well, he went on, "There will be critical marks awarded for your efforts in brewing Living Death. Thus-" And his eyes glittered maliciously upon Harry, who was quite sure this said peer assessment was a very recent invention. "-to a certain extent, I fear you're left to the mercy of your partner's scruples, and I daresay some of you will find them-" His black eyes darted to Malfoy and then back to him. "-lacking."

Low giggles – spearheaded by a loud shriek of laughter from Pansy – erupted from the Slytherins and many of them had proud smirks on their faces as they looked admiringly at Malfoy, who was leaning on the wall behind him with his arms crossed and who promptly gave a mechanical, almost bored, sort of smirk at Harry, who, for a moment, gave himself over to the tempting belief that it was an upon-request, light-switch, perfunctory sort of gesture, one that, despite one's own feelings, had to give.

"Get to work, Potter. I'm sure your partner will require the yew leaves very soon, yes?" he directed at Malfoy over Harry's head.

"Very shortly, yes, sir," said Malfoy sweetly. "Their in that top cabinet there, Potter. Make it quick – they're the first ingredients to be added, just in case you didn't know."

Snape smiled coldly at Harry, and behind him, the Slytherins lapsed into hysteria, with some exchanging gleeful looks, no doubt laughing at Harry being ordered around like this by his peer, and his arch rival to boot. Hermione huffed and Ron inflated indignantly, his face growing red.

Fuming enough for the three of them and then some, Harry shoved a desk aside angrily and he stomped across the room, wending between jeering Slytherin faces to reach the indicated cabinet, wrench the door open, and plunge his hand in on the first thing it caught. Almost blind with fury, his shaking hands fumbling with the varied ingredients, so incensed he was, it took longer to find the ingredient he was looking for, but then he finally found it – a wrinkled and frayed, light-brown cardboard box with 'yew leaf' scrawled jerkily on it in thin, fading black ink – and he turned around and headed back to Malfoy.

"About bloody time!" snarled Malfoy, urgently plucking the tawny box out of his hand before he could blink and quickly depositing seven, yellow, needle-like leaves into a gently simmering opaque grey liquid that instantly turned a muddy, sickly green colour not unlike that of Malfoy's Elitist Potioneer kit. Putrid fumes rose from the cauldron and the both of them recoiled, wearing identical grimaces of disgust.

As Malfoy grew busy with making the potion, quite content with him hovering there beside him uselessly, Harry looked at Malfoy, studying him, his green eyes unmoving, flat, fixed upon the side of Malfoy's face, which was unobstructed by his white-blond hair, slicked back as it was, and he was visited again by that strange, indecipherable, poignant pang that clawed at his chest. He truly didn't know what to feel about seeing Malfoy after what had happened in the dungeons. He worried his lips. The three ugly girls, Malfoy lying on top of him, Malfoy surveying his new looks behind him in the mirror, Malfoy being hit on only moments after they left his room, Malfoy leading him and Vamilda to his room, Malfoy kissing Vamilda, kissing him, fucking Vamilda, fucking him.

Suddenly, a sharp sense of disgust at Malfoy bloomed within Harry, followed shortly by another less discernible emotion that might have resembled something like indignant disappointment. A deep frown creased his brow as that strange pang kicked at his chest again. He truly didn't know what to feel about seeing Malfoy after what had happened in the dungeons.

"Upset stomach, Potter?" asked Malfoy, snapping Harry out of his thoughts. He was obviously referring to Harry's concentrating frown. His face was flushed and shone with sweat, no doubt due to the smelly fumes, which was now a normal looking grey. Harry's face assumed a similar shade of pink as well, and he looked away abashedly.

"How far is it?" he asked, peering into the cauldron a good distance away.

Malfoy snorted incredulously as he stirred clockwise. "You have a nerve. After just standing there looking like Trelawney with your arms folded, you ask about a potion you're even not helping create?"

"Yeah," said Harry simply, pointedly readjusting his indeed folded arms in the face of Malfoy's glare.

"You have to do some work, Potter! Don't forget it is I who is going to decide whether you fail or pass this assignment in the end."

"No, you're not," argued Harry. "As long you make the right potion we'll pass. All you do is give me a few extra marks on top of that or no marks at all and the same goes for me." Harry immediately regretted saying this, for he feared he had put ideas in Malfoy's mind even as he highly doubted it they hadn't already occurred to him before he had opened his mouth.

"But you forget, Snape has a soft spot for me," said Malfoy, smiling balefully.

Those words affected Harry in more ways than he would have expected; that strange pang gave him another kick to the chest, and he sweated momentarily. He didn't speak.

Noting that he had silenced Harry, Malfoy went on, "You underestimate my charm, Potter-"

"What happened to 'Now, now, _Harry_, surely you can't be calling me by my last name after we've been so intimate with each other'?" Harry asked briskly.

Malfoy raised his eyebrow, and his stirring ceased momentarily, but it commenced, if a little jerkily, and for a moment, Malfoy seemed to lose his composure. He peered into his cauldron and then Harry noticed his grey eyes avert and dart around the Slytherins before returning to the potion and then back to him. Malfoy then made a strange movement: he jerked his head as though to toss his hair, which, oddly enough, was gelled flat onto his scalp as though ironed on there, incapable of bothering him and therefore not needing to be tossed. But perhaps Malfoy had merely jerked his head to dislodge an invisible fly Harry hadn't seen land on his wet forehead, though he doubted flies would find the dungeons attractive enough to explore, given its cold dimness.

"We have to work, Potter," he finally said curtly. "Grab those gob stones and grate them. Then weigh them on the scale according to the measurement in the book."

Glad of something to occupy himself with, Harry dismissed his indignation at being ordered for the second time by Malfoy – and this time with the incentive of having no audience of forty-odd eyes and ears – and studied the page in the book for the measurement. Then, taking odd pleasure in having licence to touch Malfoy's exclusive Elitist Potioneer Kit, Harry rifled through its contents interestedly, and then he asked, "What do gob stones look like?"

He had expected Malfoy to roll his eyes to the ceiling or mutter something scathing to him, but Malfoy did neither: to Harry's slight astonishment, he inclined his chin and quietly answered, "They're dark brown, shrivelled looking, quite big, bean-shaped, sort of."

Harry stared at him for several seconds, and when he noticed a feint flush starting to glow in his pale cheeks, he quickly looked away and into the Potions kit, searching for such a stone. "How many gob stones do they want?"

"It's in the book," replied Malfoy brusquely.

Feeling hot in the cheeks himself, and with a quick half-glance at Malfoy, Harry returned to _Morderne Potions_, by Perkus Naelblume, and found that the potion required two gob stones, which he removed from a heavy, silver case that came across to Harry as slightly pretentious, which didn't hold true for the rest of the instruments in the kit, as they were generally modestly elegant. Harry proceeded to look for a grater and found a small, thin, silver one whose flimsiness made it appear rather attractive and almost misleading of its capability. He got to work and began grating a gob stone – a difficult feat, as the gob stone was very hard, as if compacted heavily.

When his biceps began stinging with the effort, he paused, stood up straighter from his hunched posture, and he shot a cursory glance inside Malfoy's cauldron. Malfoy then turned to him, his chin tilted upwards, and appraised the small mound of gob stone powder he had so far negotiated, and then their eyes met. Time ceased to exit. Muscle pains quite forgotten, Harry swiftly resumed grating duty, his hand a blur across the silver pitted surface of the grater, his eyes following his hand with immense interest, though he didn't fail to notice Malfoy give another weird jerk of his head as though to toss his hair again. The few strands of hair that had been steamed loose by the potion fumes fluttered feebly and seemed to mock him.

And he felt the gaze before he saw it. In a foreign whim, he looked up from his grating and spotted Hermione's eyes dead centre on him…

For some reason, fear broke over him, and his heart skipped a beat.

Next to Neville, Hermione, her hair looking much more plentiful and frizzier than when she had entered the classroom, looked away calmly, tilting her head to the side contemplatively as she daintily grated her own gob stone to dust.

Instinctively, his gaze shifted to Ron, whose freckled face was contorted with fear as the towering Millicent Bulstrode jammed her fat finger at the cauldron menacingly. He must not have seen anything; it appeared he had quite a lot to deal with at the moment.

Why it felt as though his blood was itself simmering with miniature explosions inside his veins across his body, Harry didn't know; he didn't understand why he was so fearful, but he did understand his humiliation. He whipped his head sideways to look at Malfoy, but Malfoy appeared vastly unconcerned; he knew only his cauldron and didn't seem to have seen Hermione, which served to restrict and internalize the phenomenon, the… threat to Harry alone. His sense of loneliness mounting, Harry looked down at his growing heap of ground gob stone, his mind racing in step with his blood.

"Hurry up, Potter, and measure it up – I have to add it soon."

Wordlessly, and without turning to him, Harry scooped up the little mountain of grated gob stone he had produced and—

"No, use a spoon to transfer it!" hissed Malfoy, looking incredulous.

"Oh, right," said Harry nervously, and he dusted his hands off and from within the Potions kit took out a petite silver spoon with elegant markings along its handle. Harry used it to scoop up the dust and deposited it onto the brass scale, which tinkled slightly, its super sensitivity surprising Harry, considering the small amount of ingredient he was ladling onto its dish. What was more impressive than this, though, he discovered, was its precision. Carefully piling spoonful after spoonful until the needle finally slid onto the line indicating the right quantity, Harry then murmured to himself, "That's enough," and he lifted the top dish from the dish permanently attached to the chains of the brass scale. His hand holding the brass dish hovered over the top of the cauldron, waiting for confirmation from Malfoy, who, it became apparent, had other ideas: he glanced distrustfully at Harry's suspended hand and then at the potion with panic.

Then, he transferred his wooden spoon – which looked out of place in the middle of all those bronze and silvery apparatuses, then again silver conducted heat readily – to his left hand, his right one left the brim of the cauldron and slipped on top of Harry's as he poured the powder steadily and stirred equally steadily at the same time. Initially, his motions had been of practical surety, but then, a few seconds into holding Harry's hand as he tipped more of the powder into the cauldron, they became shaky, self-conscious, as if awakened to what they were actually doing, and judging by the return of his flush to his cheeks and his drawn lips, Malfoy was obviously flustered, not that Harry was in an entirely different state or relieved of an equal burning in his cheeks.

A little over half an hour later, the bell boomed distantly from the further parts of the castle, and Harry was quite happy to flee the dungeons and not return there for another two days.


End file.
